Picking Up the Pieces
by CatarinaRites
Summary: "Potter," Draco's voice was soft as he brought the man back to the present, "it wasn't your fault. There's no way to know what could've happened, and there's no use dwelling on it."  Harry loses someone close to him even after the war has ended. H/D slash
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! Welcome to my baby, Picking Up the Pieces. I haven't finished it yet, so it won't all be posted right away, but I decided to see what people think of the beginning! I hope you guys enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: Harry and company are not mine!

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><p>Harry was late for work again. He hadn't slept well the night before, but he knew it was his own fault. If he hadn't stormed out in his anger last night instead of staying to work things out, he would have been sleeping curled around a warm, comfortable body, and would not have been kept awake by the nightmares that had plagued him since the war. He was grumpy and irritable when he made it into the office. He was always late to work after a night on his own.<p>

Upon arriving at the Ministry, Ron, who had suffered through Auror training shortly after Harry and was now his partner for field work, was waiting for Harry at the lift. He was wearing field gear, and as Harry approached he held out another set for Harry to take.

"Robards has an assignment for us. It's a murder scene. He wants us to check it out, take pictures, bring back any evidence. It was done in a Muggle town, in a park, but it's one of ours. If you deal with the Muggles I'll canvas the scene." Ron still wasn't comfortable with interacting with Muggles.

Harry groaned internally. He had been hoping for a day in the office, filled with paperwork and files and reviewing evidence. A day in the field after a mostly-sleepless night was not what he had in mind. He sighed to himself and refocused his mind.

"Deal," Harry agreed. "Death Eaters?" he asked, knowing that there were still a few that the ministry hadn't managed to put behind bars yet, but Ron shook his head.

"According to Robards this one wasn't a sympathizer, or on our side. His whole family proclaimed to be neutral through both wars. They never gave anyone any reason to attack them."

"Alright then, let's go check out the scene," Harry said. Ron gave him the Apparation coordinates, and the two Aurors took off.

Upon their arrival, Harry was disturbed. The area was familiar to him—this was the park he generally chose to spend his troubled nights wandering in. When he had had a fight with a friend (or significant other), or wanted to be alone, or was struggling after a nightmare, he came to this park. He had been at the Muggle bar down the street last night, instead of spending his night wandering in the park. He briefly wondered if he could have prevented the attack if he had come to the park as usual, but quickly discarded the thought. There was no use dwelling on "might-have-beens" as he had been taught after the War. After today it seemed he'd have to find a new place to muse.

Even from a distance, Harry could tell the scene was gruesome. The blood spatter spread out several feet from the body, which looked as though a particularly angry beast had attacked it, except that the slashes across the body weren't from claws.

Harry and Ron showed the Muggle officers their IDs, which, thanks to the Liason office, implied that the two Aurors were from a highly classified division of Scotland Yard. Ron approached the body as Harry questioned the officers on the scene. It wasn't long, though, until Ron shouted at Harry.

"Oy, Harry! Look! We went to school with him!" As Harry looked at the face, his knees gave out. His last conscious thought as he fainted was _Oh god, no. NO!_

_...&..._

Harry stared at the cup of tea Hermione had set in front of him in silence. He had gone back with Ron to the cottage he and Hermione called home as soon as they had gotten off work for the day. After the day he'd had, he couldn't handle being alone.

When Ron went off to put his daughter, Rose to bed, Harry and Hermione sat together on the couch in silence until Hermione finally scooted closer to Harry. In the years since the war, the two of them had gotten even closer than they had been in school. After Harry had admitted to his friends he was gay Hermione had become his rock, sticking by him as he rode out the maelstrom. Many of his male friends, including Ron, had been uncomfortable around him for a while, and it was Hermione who helped him through the media storm. Since then, Hermione had been the one he confided in, the only friend who knew he wa—had been in a serious relationship.

"Harry, I'm sorry. It was him, wasn't it?" Ron had filled her in on the crime scene the two of them had been to this morning, as well as Harry's extreme reaction to the body. While Ron didn't understand why Harry had reacted the way he did, Hermione had immediately understood.

Harry closed his eyes against the pain of loss and wrapped his arms around his chest tightly. He felt as though he had a huge chasm opening inside of him and no matter what he did he couldn't keep it from widening. Hermione put her arms around Harry and held him tight. Harry placed his head on her shoulder and finally let out the tears that had been threatening all day.

It had been a while since he and Hermione had put their heads together and talked, and Harry hadn't realized how much he missed it.

"He was the one who brought you back to us, wasn't he?" It was amazing how perceptive Hermione could be, sometimes.

Harry simply nodded. He wished now that he had told Ron and the rest of his friends about their relationship, if just so that they would have realized how special he was—how important. Hermione, of course, knew that he had been special, important, everything to Harry, realizing that he had been the one to pull Harry back from the edge. Harry was glad someone knew, but he still wished with all his heart that he had told Ron and everyone else.

_Blaise._ Just thinking his name hurt. Harry could see his lover standing in front of him when he closed his eyes. The image on the back of his eyelids showed Blaise the way he had looked the last time Harry had seen him alive; angry, hurt, frustrated, and yelling at Harry.

"It's my fault, Hermione." Harry started, his voice choked, "It's all my fault. We fought...we fought about the same thing we always fight about. I called him...hurtful names," Harry was whispering now, his voice muffled a bit in Hermione's neck, "I called him names and stormed out. Blaise never goes to that park unless he's looking for me. I wasn't there. It's all my fault, Hermione." Harry paused, and Hermione tightened her hold on him, hugging him close. "I want to hear his voice again. Hear him tell me that it's okay, that he understands, that he knows I was just being stupid, and that we're okay. I want to apologize and hear him say that he forgives me, that it's all going to be okay. Now I never will. 'Mione, what am I supposed to do without him? I can't live without him."

"Harry, it's not your fault," Hermione told him. "You couldn't have foreseen this. It's not your fault."

He sat with his arms latched tightly around himself, trying to keep the pieces together. He couldn't open his mouth to answer Hermione. He was afraid that if he did then the pieces that were being held together so fragilely would simply fall apart. Hermione seemed to understand and she simply held him as he cried himself out.

Harry spent the night at Ron and Hermione's cottage that night, staying in their guest bedroom, since he couldn't bring himself to face the flat he had shared with Blaise. He spent a good portion of the night staring at the shapes the moonlight created on the ceiling instead of sleeping, though. He rolled himself into a tight ball, and hugged his knees tightly to his chest. He felt as though the chasm within him was growing into an emptiness that he couldn't ignore, and didn't know how to fill. No matter what position he rolled into, no matter what he tried to think of, his thoughts kept returning to Blaise.

The gaping hole in Harry's chest seemed to physically hurt, a throbbing that wouldn't ease despite Harry's attempts to get comfortable, that made him struggle for breath. His arms ached for a body that would never again lie in them.

...&...

The next morning, Harry awoke to the smell of bacon frying and smiled. Bacon meant that it was a Saturday—Blaise always cooked bacon on Saturdays. Harry opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. He wasn't at home, in the flat with Blaise, but this place was still familiar. The cottage. He was at Ron and Hermione's cottage.

Yesterday's events came rushing back to him all at once, and Harry doubled over, clutching at his chest in pain. Blaise. Blaise, Blaise, Blaise! He had lost him. What was he supposed to do without his Blaise? The only person who had ever known how close Harry had been to ending his life. The only person who had been able to make Harry stop, pull him back into the world of the living. And now he was gone.

"_Harry?" Blaise whispered, his head tucked into the side of Harry's neck. They were lying together on top of the bedsheets in their brand new flat, trying to pretend the outside world didn't exist._

"_Hmmm?" Harry replied, half-way asleep and not really paying attention._

"_I love you."_

_Harry stiffened, abruptly awake, and sat up to look Blaise in the eyes. "What?"_

"_I mean it. I love you." Blaise said, with a small smile, still lying back in bed, relaxed. Harry stared at the beautiful man, shocked. _

"_You can't love me," he said, panicked. _

"_Why's that?" Blaise asked looking hurt. _

"_Because people who care about me, and who I care about die," Harry whispered. "They leave me, in the end." _

_Blaise sat up and placed his hands on either side of Harry's face to look straight into his eyes. _

"_I love you, and I'm not going anywhere," Blaise told him, "I will never leave you."_

"_Promise?" Harry asked. _

"_Promise." _

A broken sob escaped from Harry's throat, and tears blurred his vision. He couldn't live without Blaise. His Blaise who made the world seem lighter with a single glance. Who danced around the kitchen while cooking, humming off-pitch. Who kissed as though they would run out of time. Who had promised to never leave him.

"You left me, Blaise," Harry whispered into his chest. "You promised, but you left me."

Hermione must have heard his sob, because she was suddenly sitting next to Harry on the bed. She reached up and stroked Harry's hair, gently. She didn't shush him, or tell him that it would be alright, instead, she sat with him in silence, stroking his hair and holding his hand. Hermione understood. It wasn't going to be alright, it would never again be alright, and there was no point in pretending it would be.

Harry gasped for breath, his raking sobs taking him by surprise.

"Let it out, Harry. Don't hold it back, just let it out," Hermione told him, and wrapped her arms around his shaking form.

Harry turned his head into her shoulder and cried.

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><p>Hope you guys enjoyed! Please review and let me know what you think!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Here's chapter 2! I hope you guys continue to enjoy it. Just so you guys know, it WILL take longer to get chapter 3 up, I'm not done it yet, but I still want to know whether you guys are enjoying where I'm going with this story! Please let me know your honest opinions! You guys rock.

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are not mine!

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><p>Over the next week, Harry threw himself into his work. When he was working it was easier to forget about the pieces of himself that were missing. He had fought hard to get the murder case from Robards, the Head Auror, who had assumed that it was important to Harry because he wanted to make up for fainting at the scene and allowed him to take it.<p>

Blaise's case was quickly becoming his life. Harry knew the file backwards and forwards, and he was almost never seen without it in his hands. Even outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement it was all Harry worked on and worried about. Harry's kitchen table and walls at Grimmauld Place were covered in reports, pictures, and notes, and he had started avoiding his friends.

The crime scene where they had found his body had very few hints. There was no message, no fingerprints, and hardly any identifying clue at all. As far as they could tell there wasn't even a motive. Harry knew from blood spatters where the attacker had been standing as he sliced open his victim—with a knife, and no spell-work at all—and that the victim had put up quite the fight before he had been subdued. Based on footprints in the soft ground, Harry knew that the killer weighed about 14 stone, and he wore men's boots, size 12. There hadn't been any magical signature at the scene from the attacker, although the victim—Blaise—had pulled and used his wand, which lead Harry to believe that his attacker _was_ actually magical, and probably someone he had recognized as a threat. In that case, however, Harry couldn't understand why the killer hadn't used his wand, unless he knew that his magical signature would be recognized.

Harry leaned against the back of the chair as he surveyed his dining room table—he felt like he was missing something obvious. He knew that his friends were worried about him, and that this case was rapidly becoming an obsession, but with Blaise's body still sitting in a morgue, he couldn't allow himself to give up, or hand the file over to someone else. Blaise was _his,_ damn it, and he was going to find the bastard who had murdered him.

Harry looked at the clock. It was getting late, which meant that he should be heading home. Every night after leaving the Ministry office, Harry went back to Grimmauld Place to work on the case more, but afterwards he would head back to the flat he and Blaise had shared to sleep. Their flat was his solace—his place away from his work. Blaise had always insisted on that. Harry could work himself to death at his office, at Grimmauld Place, at his friend's houses, even, but here in their home, work was banned. Now, keeping that rule allowed him to submerge himself in memories, and forget that Blaise was gone.

Harry walked into their living room and glanced around. He hadn't moved anything in the week since Blaise had died. He walked over to the shelf holding several picture frames. Most of the frames held photos of Harry and Blaise together, taken by one of the few people who had known about their relationship. In the pictures the couple was laughing, holding hands, play wrestling in a park. Harry's favourite sat at the front of the shelf. The subjects were staring at each other, completely oblivious to their surroundings. The two looked very much in love.

Harry left the living room and walked across the hallway to stand in the doorway of their kitchen. He hadn't yet cleaned up the mess they had made during their last fight. Blaise had always been very expressive, and even more so during fights. Things were always broken during their fights, and the last one had been no exception. As he surveyed the mess Harry felt the empty space in his chest growing. He wrapped one arm around himself tucked his head to his chest, trying to make himself as compact as possible to keep himself together. It didn't work.

"_Why are you so damn afraid of admitting to people that you're in a relationship? Are you ashamed of it? Are you fucking ashamed of me?" Blaise yelled at Harry indignantly._

"_Why can't I just have this for myself-YOU for myself, without bringing the whole world into our life?" Harry shouted back._

"_We don't fucking HAVE a life! Not really!" Blaise threw a mug at the kitchen door in his anger. It bounced off the wood and shattered on the floor at Harry's feet. Harry didn't even flinch. "Sneaking around, planning dates where no one will see us? We can't even have friends into our flat! What the hell kind of relationship is THAT?" _

"_What kind of relationship would we have if everyone fucking knew?" Harry replied exasperatedly, "How would our lives be any better with the fucking media following us around everywhere we went, invading our lives, invading our privacy?"_

_Blaise yelled in frustration and flipped over the kitchen table in reply, the dishes and food that had been set out smashing on the ground and scattering across the tiled floor._

Harry turned around quickly and left the kitchen. Although the flat held mostly good memories of his years spent with Blaise, the kitchen was the one exception. There had been many good moments there, but it was also where they had held all their fights. If they were upset or angry at each other, they went to the kitchen—another of Blaise's rules. The kitchen was the only place where they fought in the flat. While it had been a good plan while Blaise was living—it kept their arguments centralized; when they left the kitchen the fight was over—it now meant that Harry couldn't face the kitchen without thinking of their fights, and the last, fatal one most especially. In the week without Blaise, he had taken to eating at Grimmauld Place, or getting take-out. The idea of subjecting himself to the disaster zone that was their kitchen for a prolonged period of time to clean the mess was painful.

Harry walked into their bedroom and inhaled deeply. Blaise's scent was getting fainter in the bedroom as time went on, but Harry could still smell him. Blaise had always smelled good—a mixture of the fancy expensive cologne he wore and a natural underlying spiciness that seemed to follow him everywhere. Blaise's pillow held just a faint trace of the scent now, and Harry was terrified of the day when he would come home to discover that their flat no longer smelled of Blaise.

As he settled in for the night, Harry pulled Blaise's pillow to him and buried his face in it. The pillow was a poor substitute for Blaise himself, but without it, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. So he held the pillow tight, hoping almost subconsciously, that if he breathed in enough of Blaise's scent the hole in his chest would be filled.

...&...

Harry sat at the table at Grimmauld Place, staring, yet again at the case folder. There had to be something he was missing. Some clue that would at the very least give him an idea of where to start. He pulled a crime scene photo to him, and poured over it, reanalysing blood spatter patterns, double-checking his weight estimates based on the footprint indentions, looking for anything that he might have missed the first time.

"Come on, speak to me, Blaise! You fought back. You pulled your wand. You _recognized_ the man. He was in my park. A wizard in my Muggle park. Was he looking for me? Did you get in the way of something? _What happened?"_ Harry slammed the pictures down on the table, frustrated.

A picture fluttered to the ground as the force of Harry's slamming fist blew papers away from him. He sighed and reached down to get it. Harry found himself looking into a close-up of Blaise's face, staring straight into his lifeless eyes.

_Harry stared into Blaise's beautiful eyes. They were long and slanting, and seemingly endless pools. Harry loved the depth the brown eyes conveyed, and told Blaise so. _

"_Don't be silly, Harry, brown's such an ugly colour, so plain. Common. There's nothing special about my eyes." Blaise argued, looking surprised. The two were sitting at a cafe on the Muggle side of London, at the Espresso Room; Blaise's choice. _

"_It's not plain!" Harry replied, "It may be common, but on you it's totally unique. Your eyes are filled with personality, life...you can practically see the 'fun' exuding out of you." _

_Blaise just laughed and reached for Harry's hand. "Sometimes I wonder where you come up with these things, Harry Potter."_

Harry placed the photo back on the table, and submerged himself in memories.

_...&..._

Harry had made it to work on time that morning, for the first time in a week, and had managed to sneak past Robard's office without attracting his attention. He now sat in his office looking over the case file yet again.

Harry set the file down and looked at the Muggle picture that sat framed on his desk. He hadn't had this one developed as a Wizarding photo because he loved the way the Muggle method had captured the perfect moment. The couple looked incredibly happy in this shot, soaking wet and clutching at each other as they laughed, not looking at the camera, but looking at each other, standing waist deep in a pond. Ms. Zabini had always called the expression on Blaise's face his "Harry-face." It was an expression of love, and trust, and pure _happy_ that had been reserved for Harry alone. Harry could remember the day the picture was taken perfectly. He and Blaise had been spending the day with Blaise's mother. Cassandra Zabini was one of the only people who had known about their relationship; mothers were special that way.

On this particular day Cassandra had gone through several rolls of film capturing pictures of Harry and Blaise goofing off in the sun together. The calm picnic in the Muggle park they had planned quickly deteriorated into play wrestling over the last chocolate biscuit, with Harry and Blaise rolling around on the ground as Cassandra laughed her head off and snapped pictures. The play fight had come to a head when Blaise had thrown Harry into the park's pond, and Harry had pulled Blaise in with him. They had ended up standing in the pond with their arms looped around each other as they dripped muddy water, with some type of pond flora draped across Blaise's head. The three had laughed together until their sides hurt.

As Harry refocused on the photograph, pulling himself out of the memory, he was shocked to find as well as the tears in his eyes, a small smile on his face—the first natural smile since Blaise's death. Harry shook himself and told himself he'd think about that later, and then brought his mind back to the case. He sighed.

"I don't know what else to do, Blaise. There are so few clues, there's no motive, we have no suspects...I feel like I'm letting you down." Harry sat in silence for a few moments, lost in his thoughts. "I'm so sorry." He finally choked out. "If I hadn't left that night...If only I'd been there...I was being stupid, you know? Fuck, Blaise, I didn't want to fight. Please, please, please forgive me." Harry set his head down on his desk and closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

...&...

Draco Malfoy stopped outside the door to Potter's office. He had been planning on storming in to ask for information on his best friend's murder. He was still peeved that Robards had given the case to Potter; _he_ had wanted to be the one to catch his Blaise's murderer. Robards had told Draco that he couldn't have the case because he was "emotionally attached to the victim." It had been a week since Potter had taken the case and still there was no news. Draco had been prepared to rip Potter a new one, but when he arrived in front of the office door, Potter's voice sounded from behind the closed door. Draco paused, and couldn't help but listen. The voice sounded strangled, as if Potter was close to tears, "I don't know what else to do, Blaise. There are so few clues, there's no motive, we have no suspects...I feel like I'm letting you down." The voice paused, and Draco stood still, frozen with shock. Potter was talking to Blaise as though he were in the room with him. And why would he care if he was letting him down? Because he did care, that much was obvious from the tone of voice.

Draco had just raised his hand to knock on the door in front of him when Potter's voice came floating out again. He strained to hear the words that were spoken much softer and more choked than before. "I'm so sorry. If I hadn't left that night...If only I'd been there...I was being stupid, you know? Fuck, Blaise, I didn't want to fight. Please, please, please forgive me." Draco was frozen to the spot. Potter and Blaise? Together? That was an absurd idea! But that's what it had sounded like. No wonder Potter had fought for this case so hard.

Draco thought of all the times he and Blaise had gone out on Friday nights in the last few years. In the first year after the war, when they had finally been free to do what they wanted to do for the first time in years Blaise's enthusiasm and exuberance had made him a club favourite, and he had never been wanting for a dance partner, or even a date for the night. Towards the end of the first year, though, something had changed. Blaise was still enthusiastic in his dancing, but he had stopped taking people home with him, and eventually he had limited his dancing to friends only, as well. At the time, Draco hadn't given it much thought, but now he wondered whether that the change in his friend had been because he had met someone. Maybe it had been Potter.

Finally Draco plucked up his courage and knocked on the door. There was some shuffling from inside and Potter's voice called for him to come in. When Draco looked at Potter, he knew he had been right. Potter wore a glamour that would have disguised his state from anyone not looking too closely, but Draco had spent years studying him at school, and he saw straight through it. Potter's eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot from holding back tears, he had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he looked exhausted. Blaise's case files were spread out on the desk in front of him. Draco sat down in the empty seat in the office tentatively. Potter stared at him, but it wasn't his usual glare. He looked like he had forgotten how to be angry, and instead was just sad and resigned.

Draco made a quick decision and leaned forward, looking at Potter earnestly. "You shouldn't be the one working this case, Potter." His voice was soft, calm, and filled with emotion. Potter sneered at him.

"Fuck you, Malfoy, I have just as much right as anyone else in the DMLE to work this case." He was almost growling at the blonde. Trust Potter to completely misunderstand.

"That's not what I meant, Potter." Malfoy started, wondering how to hold a normal conversation with someone he had tried to antagonize all his life. "I just meant that...it's generally frowned upon for an Auror who is...emotionally attached to a victim to work his case. Or so I was told," he added with a hint of a smile. Potter froze and stared at him in surprised silence for a few moments, before he slumped and nodded slowly, allowing his glamour to slowly fall away. It was easy now to see how the last week had affected him. Draco was surprised by the extent of Potter's visible exhaustion, despite having seen through the glamours a bit.

"I know," Potter started softly, sounding broken, "but I...I mean, I need to...It's...and no one knows..." he trailed off, looking down at his hands. "How did you find out?" he finally asked.

Draco sat back, looking at Potter. "I heard you talking to him, just a moment ago. You know, Silencing Charms work wonders, Potter," he drawled, with a small smile. The man looked up, shocked, as Draco continued, "Who else knows?"

Potter looked at a framed photograph that sat on his desk, facing away from Draco. "Hermione figured it out pretty early on. She's pretty observant. Cassandra Zabini knew. Your mum."

"My _mum?_" Draco asked, shocked, and Potter looked as though he regretted saying anything.

"Nevermind," Draco said, calming himself, "We'll come back to that later. How long were you two together?"

"About four years." Potter's voice was so soft that Draco had to strain to hear it.

"Why didn't you two tell anyone?" Draco asked indignantly. He was upset that he hadn't known that his best friend had been in such a serious relationship.

"That...that was my fault," Potter started, then stopped and swallowed, "it was what we were fighting about the night he was killed." Potter stared at his hands for a few moments, and Draco was about to apologize for bringing it up when the man started talking again.

"It hadn't been long since I came out to my friends when I met Blaise again. Ron was still struggling with accepting me for that. He had more trouble with it than anyone else, but he's my best mate, I couldn't lose him, and we'd fought over less. When Blaise and I started seeing each other we agreed to keep it quiet until we were sure it was serious. Neither of us wanted to deal with the shit-storm the media would have cooked up for us. After a while we continued to keep it secret because...well, because I was a coward.

"Blaise was the one thing I had for my very own. The public didn't know about our relationship, so we had a private life. Something I'd never had before. Blaise was exclusively _mine. _My relationship with Blaise was safe—if people saw us together they just assumed we were friends. I mean, there was speculation, but there was speculation about me with almost everyone I was seen with. The _Prophet _has a habit of making everything I am or anything I do into huge news, and the Wizarding World seems to think they have every right to know all about my private life. I hate that." Potter sounded bitter, and his face was twisted into an angry expression. "I wanted this for me. It was...selfish of me, and Blaise thought it meant that I was ashamed of him. He thought that I was choosing the 'safe' option by keeping our relationship private and not facing up to the public. He told me it made him feel like we had a 'sordid affair' that I was ashamed of." Potter paused and looked at the photograph on the desk again.

Draco tentatively reached out and turned the photo so that he could see it. He was shocked to see complete proof of Potter and Blaise's relationship. It was a Muggle photo and the couple pictured was standing in a pond, of all things, with their arms wrapped around each other and laughing happily together. Blaise even had a lily-pad draped over his head.

"Blaise's mum took that one of us. It's one of my favourites." Potters voice sounded far away as he began speaking again. "I was never ashamed of him. He meant everything to me. He was what kept me going." Draco watched as Potter seemed to clutch at himself, his arms wrapping tightly around his chest, and he wondered if the man was even aware he was doing it.

"A few months after the war I went into a...a type of depression. It wasn't really bad until almost a year after the end of the war. I know my friends tried everything they could, but it was Blaise who pulled me out of that. Afterwards it was he who...looked after me. When he was around he eased my nightmares, and reminded me that those who died in the war wouldn't want me to waste the life I'd been given back. Blaise kept me from slipping back down the road I had been struggling on.

"I didn't want to share him, and if we made our relationship public I'd have to share him with everyone, in a way. I was being stupid and selfish. If I had just given in we wouldn't have fought about something so stupid and I would never have left the flat, and he would never have come after me that night. He'd still be here." Potter's eyes were filling as he relived the memory of that last night.

"Potter," Draco's voice was soft as he brought the man back to the present, "it wasn't your fault. There's no way to know what could've happened, and there's no use dwelling on it." Draco looked into his former enemy's face and realized that Potter had probably needed to hear that it wasn't his fault.

Draco observed the slumped form of his former enemy, he wondered that the two of them were sitting in Potter's office and holding a civil conversation, not to mention he had just comforted the man. He never would have guessed when he woke up that morning that he, Draco Malfoy of all people, would have been comforting Harry Potter over Blaise Zabini, _Draco's _best friend.

Now that Draco was looking, he could see the changes Potter had gone through in the last week that weren't physical. Of the two of them, Potter had always been the stronger, jumping into any and every dangerous situation without a second thought. He always knew what to do in any crisis, and had never hesitated to do it. Although he hadn't excelled in Auror training, once Potter became a full Auror things changed. Potter hadn't gone looking for trouble, seeking out dangerous cases, but instead he had worked diligently to prove himself. He was now one of the Ministry's specialized Forensic Aurors, working mainly with crime scenes to find murderers. Potter was confident and proud, but not arrogant as Draco had always wanted to believe.

Now Potter looked defeated. His ever-present confidence had been shattered, and Draco had to wonder how much of this confidence had stemmed from the love and support of Blaise. In school, he had always seemed to burn with an inner strength, a conviction that what he was doing was right—a self-righteousness that had set Draco's teeth on edge. He had assumed that this same inner-confidence was what kept him going as an Auror, but now Draco had to wonder if his inner-confidence had been destroyed during the war. Perhaps, instead, it had been Blaise that kept Potter going. Without Blaise around, Potter didn't seem to know how to keep going.

As he looked at the profile of the man sitting slouched in front of him, Draco realized that Potter would never catch Blaise's murderer in his current frame of mind, determined though he may be. Draco made up his mind. He would help Potter find his inner strength again. He would make sure Robards never discovered the emotional attachment Potter had to the case, it was obvious that Potter needed the closure of solving the case. Despite this, if he wanted Potter to solve this case, something needed to be done. He would help Harry Potter. It would be an added benefit that he'd be the first to know when Potter caught Blaise's killer.

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><p>Well, I hope you guys enjoyed! Please let me know what you think! Reviews are love.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Oh, hello there! If anyone out there is still following me/this story, I love you guys for sticking with me. I swear, I haven't given up on this one or "Of War" and to prove it to you, here's a quick update. It's not as long as I wanted it to be, and the part that comes right after this has more H/D interaction, but I felt like I needed to post _something_, so thank you, thank you, thank you to anyone who reads. I love you!

Disclaimer: They're not mine...obviously.

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><p>"MOTHER!" Draco shouted as he entered the Manor after work that evening, ignoring the dismayed house elf that had appeared to take his cloak. "Mother, where are you?"<p>

Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the top of the stairs. "Why on earth are you shouting, Draco?" she asked, not coming down the stairs, but waiting for Draco to climb them instead.

"I spoke to Harry Potter today, Mother," Draco said as he climbed the stairs, watching her carefully for a reaction. Narcissa Malfoy, however, was nothing if not the perfect lady, and her face gave nothing away.

"Oh?" she asked, raising a perfect eyebrow, "Is that an event that deserves congratulating?"

Draco scowled at her and ignored the question. "How did _you_ know Potter and Blaise were together? And why didn't you tell me?" Draco knew he sounded like a spoiled brat, but he was not impressed.

Narcissa sighed as she looked at her son. "It was not my secret to tell, Draco." With that, she turned on her heel and, walked away, seeming to glide across the floor. Draco was left standing in the hallway, still fuming, and still without answers.

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><p>When Harry returned to Grimmauld Place that night, he couldn't focus. He was both relieved and mortified that someone at work finally knew. Incredibly relieved that he could drop the glamours he constantly wore around somebody, but absolutely horrified that the person was Draco Malfoy.<p>

He couldn't believe how much he had told Malfoy. He hadn't even told Hermione half of the information that came spilling out of his mouth to Malfoy, and the rest of his friends knew even less. Granted, he and Malfoy weren't antagonistic towards each other anymore, but they definitely weren't friends, either. Since they had both started working at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the two former rivals had generally gone out of their way to avoid each other. When Harry had started dating Blaise, he had made sure to be friendly towards Blaise's best friend, but had never felt the need to start a conversation or strike up a friendship.

Malfoy's attitude towards him today in Harry's office had been surprisingly kind and understanding, and Harry was left wondering when he had started believing Malfoy was such a monster that he was incapable of basic human emotions.

He attempted working at Grimmauld Place for only a few more minutes before throwing in the towel when he yawned so hard his jaw cracked and heading home for the night.

The next morning, Harry trudged down the bland hallway where the Ministry housed the Auror's offices tiredly. As he approached his personal office, Harry stopped short and stared at the doorway. Malfoy was leaning casually against the wall, holding a paper bag.

"Malfoy?" he asked, "What are you doing?"

Malfoy smirked at him and held out the bag. "I brought you breakfast."

Harry stepped forward and cautiously took the proffered bag, peeking in to see a pastry and a cup of coffee perched in a cardboard tray to keep it upright.

"Thanks, but you didn't have to..." Harry started, trailing off as he looked up and realized Malfoy had disappeared. He stared wonderingly down the hallway before turning and going into his office to start working for the day.

As the week progressed, Malfoy continued to bring Harry breakfast every morning, much to Harry's bemusement, and occasionally stopped by during the day to bring him coffee. His visits were short, he never joined Harry for coffee, merely dropped off a cup and left. Harry couldn't understand Malfoy's motivations and he was driving himself mad trying to understand. Was he trying to be nice? Did he feel sorry for Harry? Guilty that he hadn't known? What was going on?

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><p>Harry laid still in bed when he woke up that morning, realizing it was a Saturday and missing the traditional smell of bacon, but he had made it through one full week. Saturday meant that he didn't have to go into the Ministry and pretend that he was happy, that nothing was wrong. Saturday meant that he had no reason not to stay in bed all morning. Saturday meant that he'd get to spend time with Teddy—his godson, and Andromeda, two people he loved dearly.<p>

Generally Harry lazed about the flat with Blaise for half the day, eating Blaise's ridiculously crispy bacon for breakfast and reading aloud articles from the _Daily Prophet_ and the strange magazines Blaise subscribed to that made _The Quibbler_ look normal by comparison. Without Blaise, though, it didn't seem right to stay in the flat for long periods of time. Harry got himself up and dressed and out the door in record time for a weekend.

When Harry knocked at Andromeda's door several hours earlier than usual, he felt himself start to relax. There was something about seeing Teddy that wiped away all his worries.

"Uncle Harry!" an overly excited six-year-old shouted as the door opened. Harry found it incredibly easy to give him a natural grin and he scooped the boy up and swung him around in the air, making him squeal in delight before placing him back on his feet. He looked up to see Andromeda smiling at the pair.

"You're early!" She commented, "Come in and have breakfast with us, Harry, we were just about to sit down."

"Where's Uncle Blaise?" Teddy asked, peering around Harry and into the yard, looking as though he expected Blaise to pop out from behind a bush—which, with Blaine, was an entirely reasonable possibility.

Harry felt the grin slide off his face and tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back—now was not the time.

"Blaise couldn't come today, Teddy," he told his godson, "he went to play with your Mum and Dad instead. I'm afraid he won't be able to come back."

Harry heard Andromeda moving towards them as he spoke to his godson, but he didn't look up from the boy. Teddy watched Harry's face for a moment, then wrapped himself around his godfather's legs, tightly.

"He's gonna wait for you there, just like Mummy and Daddy are waiting for me," he told Harry, his voice full of conviction, and Harry felt the tears in his eyes begin to fall. _Maybe_, Harry thought, _But will he forgive me?_

"I hope you're right, Teddy," Harry said as he knelt down to hug his godson properly. He finally looked up at Andromeda. There was a mixture of sadness and surprise in the older woman's eyes that told Harry that news of Blaise's death had not made its way here yet.

The three moved into the stately dining room for breakfast, and took their traditional Saturday seats. Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the empty seat across from him—Blaise's seat. It seemed that no matter where Harry went, memories of Blaise followed.

_Harry looked up from his plate just in time to see the face Blaise was pulling. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Blaise just grinned. Harry looked over at Teddy and had to choke back a laugh. _

_The four-year-old had changed his hair, eye, and skin colour to look like Blaise and was imitating almost perfectly the face Blaise had just made, completely ignoring Andromeda's lecture. _

_As Teddy dropped the face he noticed Harry was watching, too, and gave him a huge grin. Blaise snuck a glance at Andromeda's turned back and made another face, starting the process over again. Teddy looked so ridiculous as a smaller version of Blaise that it wasn't long before the three were howling with laughter, finally drawing Andromeda's attention. _

_As she turned around, Teddy quickly dropped the face, assuming an innocent look that made Harry and Blaise laugh harder. The older woman merely quirked an eyebrow at the three of them. "Men," she said with a sniff, causing Teddy to dissolve back into laughter with his 'uncles'._

Harry shook himself out of the memory and tried to avoid Andromeda's pitying glance.

The meal progressed quickly, with Teddy making his usual chatter, and Harry attempting to stay focused. As soon as the food was gone, Andromeda sent Teddy out to play in the garden, and steered Harry gently into the sitting room.

"What happened?" Andromeda asked without preamble.

"Blaise was..." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "He was murdered. Last Friday. I'm sorry for not visiting last weekend..."

Andromeda waved away his apologies, "You had more important things to worry about. How are you, Harry, dear?"

Harry just gave her one of his plastic smiles. "I'm going to be fine," he said. "I miss Blaise being around, but I have other great friends, so I'll be alright."

Andromeda gave Harry a hard look.

"You don't need to put on that act with me, Harry," she began. "I know there was more going on between the two of you than just 'friendship', even if you tried to hide it. The way you two looked at each other when you thought no one was looking was proof enough. It wasn't hard to figure out, dear, even though you never told us."

Harry felt the tears pressing against his eyelids again as he listened to Andromeda and willed them back. He was getting tired of falling apart in front of people.

"He adored you, Harry," the older woman continued. "It was obvious he was head over heels for you. There's no way anyone who saw the two of you together would have been able to mistake the way you two felt about each other," she paused, as if debating whether to add her next sentence or not, then moved closer to him and placed a hand gently on Harry's knee. "Teddy's right, you know. Blaise will be waiting for you at the end. With his bright smile, just for you, and that adoring look in his eyes."

Harry gave a tight nod, still trying to hold on tightly to his emotions. Andromeda studied him for a moment, before giving a small nod in return, patting his shoulder gently, and leaving the room to allow him time to recompose himself.

Harry stayed with Andromeda and Teddy for lunch as well, and spent the afternoon chasing Teddy around on the child's racing broom in the garden. It was therapeutic, flying. And Teddy's infectious grin didn't hurt, either. When Harry finally left, he felt more relaxed than he had since before...then.

Generally after spending the afternoon in the Tonks/Lupin household, Harry and Blaise would head to Cassandra's stately manor for dinner. Without Blaise around, though, Harry didn't feel right going to Cassandra's—it would be intruding; he wasn't her son. He didn't know that he would be able to hold it together with Cassandra, anyways, so Harry headed to Grimmauld Place.

He had just begun to submerse himself back into Blaise's case, seated in the sitting room with the case file across his knees when he heard his floo flare into life. There were only a few people who were permitted to floo in without announcing themselves, and of those few, only one actually did.

"In here, Hermione," Harry called out, tiredly. He figured he should have been expecting a visit from her anyways, she had probably decided he had been secluding himself for a long enough and it was time for him to rejoin the land of the living.

Harry closed the file and looked up as he heard the footsteps reach the sitting room door, only to jump to his feet, knocking the folder to the floor when he realized it wasn't Hermione looking back at him.

"Good evening, Harry," Cassandra Zabini's voice was quiet and sedate. "I had surmised that you did not intend to join me for dinner this evening, so I decided to impose myself on you, instead."

Harry stared at her for a moment, recognizing the soft, teasing smile that stole slowly across her face as she gazed back. Cassandra looked tired and worn, not quite her usual sophisticated self, but she held herself with grace. Her hands shook almost imperceptibly as she stood in his doorway, the only outward sign of her inward pain.

"Harry," Cassandra said gently, and Harry realized he hadn't yet moved nor said anything. He let out a wordless cry and launched himself into her arms. How could he have thought she wouldn't want to see him? Cassandra was family.

Cassandra stroked his hair gently and when he pulled back he saw tear tracks on her face. Harry made a soft sound of distress and pulled her into the room to sit with him.

"Harry," she said again quietly, looking at him seriously, "We are family, you and I. We're supposed to help each other through this and be there for one another. That's what a family does."

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><p>AN: I hope you guys enjoyed this! I wanted to get some outside interaction in this chapter. I have so many characters in my head that go along with this story that I needed to introduce some. Cassandra's probably my favourite, though, with Narcissa a close second. What do you guys think?

[Edit]: I have noted the amount of exclamation points in my authors notes, and will be attempting to cut down. I'm annoying myself, so I'm sure it bothers you guys, too. Much love!

Let me know what you guys think! Reviews are love.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: um, hello? It's been...a while. Like, years? I'm so sorry. For a while there I thought maybe I'd given up on this, and decided to move on. I'm not actually sure what brought me back to it, but yeah. I'm working on this again! I don't know if anyone's actually still interested in this, and I'm so sorry to anyone who's been waiting since 2011, you are amazing. So yeah, here's the next chapter! Hopefully I'll actually get back into the swing of writing, and it won't be years (or even months, hopefully) till the next update comes out. I'm going to start working on the next chapter now, and I hope you enjoy this one!

Disclaimer: They're not mine, of course! Harry and Blaise and Draco as well as all the rest of these characters don't belong to me!

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><p>Harry had been avoiding Cassandra, it was true. He knew that eventually he'd have to face her, to conduct an interview for Blaise's case—mostly a formality, since Harry knew all the answers to the questions he was going to ask, but there had to be a record of the interview. That wasn't the way he wanted to see her, though. But now, with Cassandra sitting in front of him, in Grimmauld Place, he didn't know how he had made it so long without seeing her. She was right—they were family. As small and broken as they were—smaller, and even more broken now—it was still true.<p>

She didn't ask him how he was, and he returned the favour. There was no point; they were both painfully aware of how they felt. Blaine's absence was so glaringly obvious that it felt like a tangible hole in the room, and they both seemed to be making tremendous conversational leaps to avoid bringing him up. Instead, they spoke about everything, and nothing—what Cassandra's book club was reading, what they had had for meals this week, how their correspondence with mutual friends was going. It wasn't until they had migrated to Harry's kitchen to cook something that Blaise was mentioned at all.

As they entered the kitchen, Harry hurried to pack away the photographs, papers, files that were strewn across the room, trying to get everything out of sight before Cassandra realized what they were, but he had no such luck.

"Harry," Cassandra began, her voice deadly neutral, "is that Blaise's case?"

"…yes?" Harry replied cautiously. He knew as soon as the words were out that it was the wrong answer. Cassandra's face closed off with anger.

"_Why _do you have those files? And why are they spread out all across this place?" she asked angrily. "Do you think it's _fun _to torture yourself?"

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face. He had known that he would have to justify himself to Cassandra at some point, but hadn't braced himself for it today.

"No, of course not," Harry answered tiredly. "I'm not torturing myself – I'm _not_," he added when she raised an eyebrow at him. "I just…I _needed _to do this, Cassandra, I _needed to_." Harry collapsed into a seat and dropped his face into his hands. "I couldn't bear the thought of someone else being the one to do this. I…I just…I needed to be the one to find his killer, to make sure that he pays. I _have _to find who it is."

Cassandra didn't reply, and when Harry looked up, her expression was pinched and worried.

"I'll be fine, I swear," Harry told her.

Cassandra reached across the table and clasped Harry's hand in hers. "You're going to kill yourself this way. You can't do everything, Harry. Sometimes, you need to take a step back and realize that you're human, too."

Harry looked down at the table, tracing the grain of the wood with his eyes, trying to will back the tears.

"I don't know how to _be_ without him anymore. I don't know who I am without him. I can't just let him go," Harry whispered.

"I don't either," Cassandra admitted honestly, surprising Harry into looking up at her, "but we'll figure it out together. You're not alone in this, Harry."

…&…

Draco pushed his food across his plate absently, not really focused on eating, but on Potter. It had been a week since Blaise's death, three days since Draco had discovered their relationship, and Draco had been doing his best, but Potter seemed to regress further into himself as time went on. Draco needed a new game plan. Bringing Potter food and forcing him to take the occasional break hadn't done anything. There had to be a way to bring him out of his protective shell and make him see that there's more to him than Blaise.

A noise from across the table drew his attention and he looked up to see his mother staring pointedly at his plate as she delicately cut her food.

Draco sighed and put his utensils down. He wasn't eating anyways.

"Something bothering you, Draco?" his mother asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"No, Mother," Draco replied, "it's just that…" Draco trailed off and Narcissa set her cutlery down across from him and focused her whole attention on her son.

"How…" Draco started again, "how well do you know Potter?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "What brought this on, Draco? What are you thinking?" she asked. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm not plotting anything, if that's what you're worried about," Draco replied. "It's just that…he's the one working Blaise's case," he shrugged, faux-casually, "I'm concerned, is all."

If Draco hadn't been watching his mother's face carefully for any reaction, he would have missed the flash of concern that passed through her eyes before she dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter has more knowledge of his own limits than you," she said in reply, and rose from the table.

Draco was left staring absently across from him at her plate, lost in his own thoughts until his musings were interrupted by a house elf trying to clean up.

…&…

During the next week, Malfoy popped up almost everywhere Harry went. He couldn't seem to get away from the man. He was waiting outside Harry's office with pastries and coffee when Harry got into work in the morning, and he had started to join Harry on his coffee break now, too. His Monday coffee break had been the most awkward fifteen minutes Harry had experienced since joining the DMLE. Neither man had known what to say to start a conversation, not wanting to bring up Blaise or the case – the only things they knew they had in common, and Harry was completely bewildered by Malfoy's presence anyways. Next, Malfoy started following Harry back to his office after coffee. He never said a word, but would casually lounge in the chair opposite Harry's desk with a case file in hand, and proceed to go to work without a word. Harry rarely found himself alone these days.

By the end of the week, though, Harry found that he was growing accustomed to Malfoy's presence. That wasn't to say he understood why Malfoy had suddenly attached himself to his former enemy, but if he was being honest with himself, Harry didn't mind. He could still get his work done while Malfoy sat opposite him and, although he'd never admit it out loud, it was almost comforting some days not to be alone. He had noticed that Malfoy was good at noticing when Harry had lost himself in memories or thoughts of Blaise that hurt. He could tell when Harry was really being productive and when he was faking. Malfoy even seemed to have a sixth sense for when Harry really needed a break, needed to get away from Blaise's case files.

Today, Harry barely spared Malfoy a bemused glance before immersing himself in the files in front of him as Malfoy situated himself in what had somehow become 'his' chair across from Harry.

The office was silent except for the sound of paper flipping and the occasional scritch of a pen, and Harry continued to work until he noticed Malfoy had stopped flipping through his papers.

"What do you do for fun, Potter?" Malfoy asked, breaking their customary silence.

"Excuse me?" Harry replied, surprised, raising his head to look at him.

"You heard me," Malfoy replied persistently, "What do you do when you have time off? Or your Friday nights? Blaise…" he hesitated before continuing, "Blaise always spent Friday evenings with me, so what did you – do you do?"

Harry closed his eyes briefly against the now-familiar flash of pain deep in his chest that came with the mention of Blaise.

"Why do you want to know?" It was a bizarre subject to bring up when they'd been doing so well at not mentioning what had started their tentative companionship.

Malfoy shrugged. "Curiosity."

Harry studied Malfoy's face closely. Over the last week he had consistently searched for some remainder of the boy who had tormented him in school, but whatever had happened over the last few years had changed Malfoy. Fundamentally, he was still the same person Harry remembered. He was still cunning, quick-minded, sly, but he had changed, too. He no longer acted with the entitlement he had worn like a cloak in Hogwarts. He had started thinking his actions through. His work with the DMLE was flawless, and he had worked hard to earn his position. Right now, though, he seemed genuinely curious about how Harry spent his Friday nights.

"I just…" Harry began before he stopped and shrugged. "Usually I spend Fridays with Hermione and Ron, mostly. Sometimes we go out with Seamus, Dean, and Neville for drinks. Sometimes we stay in. Nothing too exciting, really."

It was a vague reply, but nothing that wasn't true, and nothing that explained the look of surprised glee that had come across Malfoy's features.

"Are you going to be with them tonight?" he asked, and Harry paused.

"I...forgot it was Friday," he said evasively. He had actually planned to go back to Grimmauld Place tonight with Blaise's file. It had been two weeks now, and he still couldn't figure out what he was missing. Malfoy's eyes narrowed at him.

"Go hang out with your friends tonight, Potter," he said, standing up. Harry gaped at him.

"Why do you even care?" he asked. The question came out harsher than he had intended, and he winced a little. Malfoy had been good to surprisingly good to him, he didn't deserve Harry's anger. "Nevermind," he said, "don't answer that, it's fine." Malfoy had paused at his door when Harry snapped at him, so he turned to face him now.

"Just don't stay at home tonight," Malfoy said with a small shrug. "You should be with your friends."

"I'll…I'll think about it," Harry replied. It was about as close to a real answer as he was going to get, and Malfoy seemed to realize it. He nodded sharply and left the room.

Harry slumped down when the door shut. He didn't understand what was going on, or why Malfoy was hanging around him now, or why he even cared.

He checked his watch and started packing up his belongings when he realized what time it was. He paused as he began to reach for Blaise's file, though. Harry ran his fingers over the cover, thumbing at Blaise's name before tapping the folder and picking up his bag.

When he closed and locked the office door behind him, Blaise's file was still sitting on his desk.

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><p>AN: So yeah. I hope that this was okay, sorry it's shorter than I meant it to be! I'll get right to work on chapter 5, and I hope you guys still love me!

Reviews would be amazing!

All my love.


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